


Spend Your Lives in Sin and Misery

by ElegantSufficiency



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bath Sex, F/F, Human!Naomi, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:58:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElegantSufficiency/pseuds/ElegantSufficiency
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once, she had wings; beautiful, black feathered wings. Now...now she has a heartbeat that’s solely hers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spend Your Lives in Sin and Misery

**Author's Note:**

> Follows Inferno, however it's not necessary to read that to understand this.

The hot water ripples as she leans back, feeling the scarlet-red lips on her should, creep up to her neck. It’s different now. Sensations are different. She breathes, her heart beats, and there are time where she closes her eyes and she doesn’t know if they will ever open again. 

“Do you ever relax?” Abaddon’s voice snaps her eyes open and Naomi’s there again, in the bathroom with her lover’s hands twisting and styling her hair. 

Sighing, Naomi slips back and sinking deeper in the water and further against her Sister. She can feel breasts at her back, just under her shoulder blades. Once, she had wings; beautiful, black feathered wings. Now...now she has a heartbeat that’s solely hers. 

Feeling the hair untangle from the twisted design, Naomi feels it slip and fall wetly onto her shoulder. Humanity requires her to bathe in one form or another. To clean her hair and lather her body in perfumed soaps. Her vessel once had memories of a short-bath where’d she draw a soaped rag over her naked body as she knelt in a foot of water. 

Abaddon’s private bath was far more civil. Large and spacious, she’d still chosen to lean into her Sister and feel the warm hands play in her hair over kneeling in dirty water. She also enjoyed the cloth on her skin, washing over her shoulders, down her back, over her stomach and between her thighs. Perhaps she just enjoyed Abaddon’s hands over her new human hands. 

They were hers now. Marked by her, scarred by her. It was all wrong. Cassandra, her vessel, was long-since hollow but Naomi had viewed the vessel as a uniform rather than her own flesh and blood. Now, however... 

“You think too much.” 

“You don’t think enough,” Naomi replies sharply. She lets out a breath and feels a hand slide over her breast, slipping over her skin. Abaddon likes her heartbeat. She enjoys the rapid _thump-thump_ as she presses over the breast, laying her hand flat against the skin, to feel the heart pound for her. 

Naomi, however, loathes it. It gives away her feelings, taking away half her ability to lie. If she didn’t know who had caused this, she would have sworn Abaddon was behind the act herself. 

Scarlet nails ran over her thighs and Naomi closes her eyes, again. She had never understood the comfort of bathing until she now. Cassandra, no, this form is so fragile. Human-beings, she theorized, have to do mundane tasks for the most part, lest they break apart from exertion. It is, to say the least, excruciatingly dull. 

Abaddon makes the mundane interesting. Perhaps that’s why she remains here with her, rather than-- 

No. She knows why she is here. Why she would always have ended up here no matter what path had been taken. 

She feels nails on her hips, sliding up her to her breasts and down again to her thighs, edging closer as her skin ripples with goosebumps. A sure shiver slips down her spine as she tilts her head up, her own fingers pressing flat on the porcelain floor of the bath. 

The rhythm is slow, a soft pace where Naomi knows her Sister’s eyes are watching her chest rise and fall against the waterline. With each breath, she can feel Abaddon’s chin resting against her shoulder, lips pressed to her neck in a twisted smirk. It’s a game between them, with Naomi swallowing back any sounds, and Abaddon coaxing them out into gasps and moans, until all Naomi has is a blank mind and a mouth wanting to plead mercy. 

_Mercy_ . Before this she’d never think of asking _mercy_. God be damned, she will win this war and have Abaddon on her knees. 

“Do you miss being an angel? All that chastity and virtue-“ 

“Chastity _is_ a virtue,” Naomi hisses. In a fragile moment, between a gasp and a swallowed moan, she gives in; her hand coming out of the water, throwing droplets into the air as she wraps her fingers around the back of Abaddon’s neck to steady herself. Naomi’s feet press to the edge of the tub, trying to angle her hips for those long, slender fingers. 

Clenching her jaw, she tenses, slowly arching her body in a long, drawn out breath. Abaddon leans forward, her body twisting Naomi’s just enough to press red lips to hers. Feel the hot, human breath panting with need as she fights the heated beg in her throat. 

“Say it.” 

“Go to Hell.” 

Gasping already, Naomi shuts her jaw, breathing between her teeth before she allows herself to be kissed. It’s hot and damp, and she can taste laughter from her Sister, thrumming down her throat and bitter on her tongue. Damn her. 

It makes her pride twist sharply, her nails dig in a little tighter. Abaddon laugh more. Kisses hard until Naomi’s petulance takes over and she’s biting on that swollen red lip until it bleeds. 

As Abaddon pulls her mouth away, Naomi tilts her head back, watching her Sister with wide-open blue eyes. She can feel a hot, red droplet run down the corner of her mouth. 

“I could break you,” Abaddon hisses, wiping the droplet from Naomi’s mouth and sucking it from her thumb. 

“No, you couldn’t.” It’s a small argument, a half lie. Abaddon could break her body, but Naomi could _never_ be broken. Out of all of them, Naomi had always been unbreakable, her mind a sanctuary from the tortures she created. 

And how many had she crafted with her hands? 

“Do most other angels remain virtuous in their time in Heaven?” her Sister continues. Returning to the previous topic as she bores with this. “I certainly didn’t. Not once I spoke with Lucifer.” 

Naomi jerks, almost coming undone then and there at the spoken keyword. Lucifer. He had spoke to Abaddon, taken her from Naomi with honeyed words and desired promises she couldn’t give. 

Where Abaddon was bold, Naomi was hollowed with their Father’s words. Carved as the perfect centerpiece to relay his message over and over again. It took far too long to realize the rot inside of her had spread like cancer. 

But here she was now, One leg high, on the mouth of the bathtub, her Sister’s lips pressed to ear; whispering, telling her to spread her legs wider. 

Damn her. 

Naomi’s hips ride above the waterline, her body tensed in a pulled, near _almost._ Before she sinks again. It’s enough. Too much. She snaps. Sitting up, she twists and feels Abaddon’s surprise as she goes from sitting between her Sister’s legs, to straddling her. Her lips press to the demon’s, kissing away the lipstick and words as she enters her sister with far less teasing and a lot more thrust. 

Her own climax falls, slips away like a fire without oxygen, but Abaddon’s is different. Her body squirms, and her teeth clamp shut as she hisses and gasps in Naomi’s ear. It’s such a beautiful sound, but it’s not enough. 

Naomi presses through the ache her muscles now carry, and forces herself to breathe evenly, panting only just barely against Abaddon’s shoulder. 

“Say it,” she demands. 

“Never.” 

Naomi pushes harder, gets Abaddon almost there, almost, almost until her body tenses and she’s locked just near the edge- before she drops her pace, leaving Abaddon unsatisfied and frustrated as she begins again. 

“Say it.” 

“No.” 

She does it again, and again, and again until Abaddon’s frustration is boiled dry and her red lips are mercilessly twisted in a snarl. 

“Say it,” Naomi demands one last, final time. 

“Please.” 

It enough. Naomi twists and it’s only a few, eternally long stretched seconds, before Abaddon’s crying out, her body spasming beneath the Human-Angel’s hands as the orgasm is pulled out in length from her. 

Finally she drops, shoulders against the cold porcelain with Naomi’s head against her neck. Naomi feels cold water drip down her back before a hand rests on her spine, holding her in place. The tender moment passes before she can catch her breath, but Naomi drinks in the rest. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from House of the Rising Sun by Animals


End file.
